


Pineapple and Anchovies

by PhantomEngineer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Depression, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomEngineer/pseuds/PhantomEngineer
Summary: Valkyrie was unpleasantly sober by the time she reached Midgard. She was not nearly drunk enough when Thor turned to empty space and addressed Loki as though he was standing there alive when there was nothing. It didn’t bother Korg nearly as much to listen to the fragmented conversations as Thor spoke to the brother only he could see or hear.





	Pineapple and Anchovies

**Author's Note:**

> Idea/prompt by KTSpree13.

Valkyrie was unpleasantly sober by the time they reached Midgard. She had done her best for the half of the Asgardians who had managed to escape Thanos’s slaughter. Done her best to keep her hope that Thor and his friends had made it out alive. When apropos of nothing half of the survivors had begun to turn to dust, she had been as scared as those who looked to her for guidance.

That Thor was there to greet them when they touched down on land that was to be their new home was a relief. That he stood alone and unsmiling spoke volumes.

She had seen her sisters slain by Hela, but they had been warriors. Valkyries. Even if she’d left behind so much of herself, the woman she had been dying alongside them and the wreck she’d been on Sakaar staying there like a ghost, leaving her with nothing but a desire for a new name and identity to start again. Somehow it was different to see the defenceless killed, as most of the warriors had died fighting Hela before Asgard was destroyed. Fleeing in fear only to be met with more death and destruction, fleeing again for half of their number to vanish away into nothing with no explanation and her with no answers to give to their King.

That Thor was unsurprised by the scant numbers told her enough, even before they spoke. Grave tidings, the news of Thanos’s beheading being nothing but the coldest of comforts.

“I’m sorry,” he said that night as he handed her a bottled beer, weak compared to the spirits she preferred but infinitely preferable to being stone cold sober.

She shook her head, even as she accepted both the beer and the apology. Sorry for giving her the hope to rise from the shattered misery of her life on Sakaar, to go to battle once more only to witness more death. As though she existed to be a witness to massacre after massacre, the one unlucky enough to survive each and every time, forced to keep living. “Maybe we should have stayed on Sakaar,” she said, her attempt at levity failing like a lead balloon, “Given Loki a chance to scheme his way to the top.”

She regretted uttering his name the moment it passed her lips. His absence had weighed on her mind, his slippery deviousness warring with his heroic actions that had allowed them to ultimately escape Hela’s wrath. The broken devastation that crossed over Thor’s face confirmed without the need for the words. Had he betrayed them or fled to save his own skin there would have been anger and resentment, cursing and recriminations. Thor’s grief was for his death as much as it was for all the other losses.

The days that followed were a miserable monotony of rebuilding even as humanity recovered from the shock all around them. A once proud people reduced to a few stragglers who had somehow survived. Valkyrie wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t the only one dulling the edge of reality with the cheap beer.

The slow process of rebuilding, of remaking a version of Asgard that would never be the same as what it had been. As King, Thor oversaw most of it. Somehow, through process of elimination, Valkyrie stood by his side even though she had been nothing more than a fighter. Yet those that would have taken her place were dead, their corpses floating in the empty darkness far away, so she did her best. Acting as advisor though she knew she was the last person fit to give advice. Clinking bottles together as the village came together, letting the future plans formalise even though the idea of there actually being a future seemed hard to comprehend.

Some days she wondered if they hadn’t been the ones killed, sent to some hellish realm of punishment for crimes committed in their lifetimes. A logical conclusion but for Thor’s presence, far too good a man to be condemned to anything but the halls of Valhalla. 

Thor seemed to brighten as New Asgard came into existence, grim as his countenance had been, his expression thawing as the days went on, vague smiles and hopeful glances even if they seemed to come and go at random. Still they were there in fleeting moments and that alone gave Valkyrie some hope for the life she had left her existence as a scrapper for.

“Another few fishing boats would be appreciated, your majesty,” the fisherman-to-be said, respectful in tone and hopeful in countenance.

“Yes,” Thor said, looking over the fledgling harbour. “What do you think Loki?” He glanced to his side, as though expecting an answer from the empty space, his head tilted slightly as though listening to advice.

Valkyrie felt her heart clench. All the little details of the preceding days since her arrival coming together. The momentary glances and smiles that had no true direction, that came and went without any external trigger. 

“Yes it’s fine isn’t it?” she said loudly, drawing all attention to herself. “And you should probably just get on with it. There’s a lot of other issues for his majesty to attend to.”

A firm hand gripped Thor’s bicep, steering him. To her relief he went with her, providing no resistance and nodding to those he passed by. It was not the smiling good cheer that she had seen when she’d first met him, but a gracious kindness that was the best that could be managed with the deep-seated grief that lined all their faces. A caring gesture, a man who had become father to them all suddenly only to lose most of his children.

“I think you need to rest,” she said as gently as she could, which wasn’t very gentle as she was a warrior. A fighter. One who killed, risking death. She wasn’t built for this, lacked the temperament, lacked the warmth inside.

She sent Korg to watch over him, killing two birds with one stone. It prevented Korg from annoying her or getting in the way with his unhelpful good intentions, and ensured there was someone capable of sympathy with Thor. Someone who actually existed. Not that she imagined that Loki had ever been particularly sympathetic to the suffering of others when he had been alive.

“Drab decor,” Loki commented, not in the least bit impressed with the small stone hut that Thor had claimed as his own. It was nothing in comparison to the castle they had grown up in. Small and unfurnished in comparison to the rooms he had occupied in Avengers’ Tower when the Avengers had been Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. And yet it was still the grandest building in the village that made up the bulk of New Asgard.

“That’s not exactly the priority,” Thor said, grateful for his critical eye nonetheless. It helped make everything a bit more normal if Loki could complain about the aesthetics.

“You should have kept his head, brother,” Loki mused, “And mounted it on the wall.”

Thor shuddered slightly at the idea. It appealed to him in a macabre way, a sign of victory. Something to show that he had triumphed. At the same time he wanted to forget the entire existence of Thanos, to block out his name to the point where he couldn’t remember a single detail. He reached for another bottle of beer, glad that they were so plentiful and easy to come by, sinking down onto the sofa as he tried to ignore Korg’s ineffectual attempts to tidy up the maps that littered the tables.

It was a sparsely furnished house, with little to do except sit and drink. It was lucky that Thor had little else he wanted to do except drink and talk to Loki. It felt good to fall back into that old routine, that had been absent for the last few years. As though everything was the way it had been back before Thor had been banished and Loki had fallen through his fingers from the Bifrost, when they had been whimsical princes free of true responsibility. 

In a way it was a relief to take a break and just relax to the soothing sounds of Korg’s good-natured ramblings and Loki’s acerbic wit that cut everything to shreds. He had been running on rage for far too long. The anger that had lit the fire in his veins since Hela revealed herself barely having a moment to abate before it surged to even greater levels when Thanos had boarded their ship. It had powered him through until the moment Thanos’s head had rolled to the ground, cleaved from his head. Then there had been nothing but the grief of responsibility, the aching gaping wound inside him that was festering.

The one comfort amongst the tragedy was that Loki had survived, faked his death as he had before. It didn’t stop Thor from seeing the scene, so real and so visceral, again and again when he closed his eyes. He wanted to block it out, even if Loki’s prickly taunts in his ear reassured him that it hadn’t been real. That hadn’t been Loki that Thanos had gripped around the neck as Thor watched helplessly. That hadn’t been Loki who had gasped and struggled in Thanos’s hand. That hadn’t been Loki that had been thrown to the floor, no longer bright and full of life but a broken corpse. It hadn’t been Loki’s corpse that Thor had crawled to, cried over, hoped to die with.

It couldn’t have been because Loki was there, sitting on the couch rolling his eyes at Korg’s fussing over what they should eat.

“There’s nothing wrong with pickled herring,” Loki muttered, an offended tone buried deep in his words, a threat of chaos in the line of his lips. An expression Thor knew only too well and now was old enough to know how important it was to diffuse the moment, especially seeing as it was clear that Korg was entirely oblivious to the danger he could be in. Not lethal danger, but pranks and humiliation that might sour the mood of the already precariously balanced village.

“How about pizza?” Thor suggested, the first thing that came to mind. He remembered sharing pizza with the Avengers before, in New York. “You haven’t tried pizza, have you brother?” He wished that things had been different, that Loki had come to Midgard in a different manner, that they had all been friends, but now there was a chance for that. Loki and he were there, on Midgard, in peace. They just needed to rebuild, to have a break.

It was a good idea for them to reach out and trade with the other settlements nearby, Thor knew. If the nearest pizza place hadn’t been willing to deliver then presumably they wouldn’t have inundated every building with flyers, though he had also been given the impression by Clint that every house needed pizza menus.

“Sounds good to me,” Korg said cheerfully. “I think Miek can eat pizza. Maybe.” 

He was content to let Thor do the choosing, glad to be not eating pickled herring. Curious about the new food. He didn’t get quite why Valkyrie had been so bothered by Thor talking to the empty air beside him, as Korg had seen that happen plenty of times before. He thought that Doug had been like that too, but there had been many. Many Dougs and many that talked to people who weren’t there, even if Loki and the ghost that had visited Thor in the creepy circle of the gladiator’s prison seemed to be one and the same. His name had still been listed amongst the dead.

It didn’t really matter that much to Korg. Sure, having conversations where he could only hear half of it did make it hard, but Thor mostly spoke to Loki not him or Miek. 

The days blurred into each other, the passage of time slowed and distorted by alcohol and the background sounds of the games Korg took to playing. Thor wasn’t quite sure when that had happened, except that Loki thought the entire endeavour to be puerile. Thor didn’t mind, in part because there was something so nostalgic about Loki’s mockery that it almost made him think they really were back on Asgard.

“I should be doing more for New Asgard,” Thor said softly, beer bottle in hand but the cap not yet removed, hesitating. His words too quiet to reach Korg, deeply engrossed in shooting pixels on the screen.

Loki laughed, the cruel laugh that Thor had never liked to hear. “You?” he asked incredulously. “You will never be a worthy king. We’ve all known it for centuries Thor, you aren’t cut out for that kind of thing. Too stupid, too brash. The only direction you’re capable of leading anyone in is straight to destruction. Have our people not already suffered enough without having to have your incompetence drag them down?”

Thor crumpled, retreating in towards a miserable hunch. “Yes,” he murmured miserably, “Yes you’re right. You’re always right.”

Loki’s tone softened, his features showing a hint of care. “You have another drink. Leave the running and rebuilding to those of us who are competent.”

Thor nodded, grateful for the swig of beer. Grateful for Loki, there to deal with everything. He had at least matured enough to be able to take advice. To know that for all his tricks and mischief that Loki was the intelligent one. He should let Loki deal with it. It was for the best of all if he didn’t try. 

It was under the cover of darkness, in the brief moment before the dawn light revolutionised the world, that Valkyrie let herself into the hut. Quietly, though she could have stormed the building with an entire army and not woken Thor, she slipped into what passed for his bedroom. As a morning routine it was really just something she did to torture herself, but still she couldn’t help it. The strange dichotomy between needing to check that he was still alive and barely able to see him. When he was asleep, curled up in blankets of green and gold, he at least wasn’t looking away from her in disconnected conversation to talk to empty space. There was too much for her to do. Too much fragile hope that the shattered people still held that she couldn’t destroy. 

She sighed, returning to the main room. Truth be told, she was glad that Korg and Miek tended to sleep on the sofa rather than the house that technically was for them. Korg didn’t seem to understand the appeal of beds, probably due to being made out of rocks and if Valkyrie was given the option of dropkicking Miek into the sun she might have taken it. She wasn’t sure if it was only Korg who could understand him or if he was actually some kind of pet that had ended up under Korg’s dubious care.

She didn’t like the idea of Thor being alone, even if he didn’t believe he was.

Plus, the idea of Korg being any use when it came to fishing was ludicrous. He would fall overboard within moments and then he would very much literally sink like stone.

Being careful to not accidentally touch Miek, she shook Korg awake, shushing him as she did so. She doubted his cheerful exclamations would wake Thor, but she was trained as a warrior to minimise risks.

“Is he still talking to Loki?” she asked, not bothering with pleasantries as life was far from pleasant. 

Korg blinked up at her before nodding. “Yeah, but I don’t know why you’re so worried about it. I’ve seen it plenty of times before back on Sakaar. He seems to be happy, so where’s the harm in it?”

Valkyrie sighed heavily, not surprised by the answer. She gave herself a moment to despair, burying her face in her hands before straightening her back once more. “And those people in Sakaar, who talked to people who weren’t there,” she said pointedly, “Where are they now? What happened to them?”

Korg paused, as though on the brink of understanding her concerns. “They died,” he admitted, not keen to linger on that fact. “Besides, Loki could disappear and all that. Maybe he’s just using magic to hide from us?”

Valkyrie shook her head, turning away. Glad to leave the hut and step out into the dawn, the fresh sea air filling her lungs and erasing the lingering scent of beer. She couldn’t believe that Loki was alive. She couldn’t believe that Thor would have not announced that realisation with loud cheers and celebrations rather than this, the disconnect from reality.

There was very little left for her to believe in except the eternal smell of fish and the rough nets in her hands.

“I love you so much,” Thor said into a dark night like any other, not quite drunk enough to have fallen unconscious but not quite sober enough to do anything more than lie in his bed as the world spun around him. He didn’t really remember stumbling to it, but memory was patchy and unreliable. If he remembered too much he would remember laying his head on Loki’s breast, no breath and no heartbeat. Better instead to keep the world softened, to gaze across the spinning room to where Loki stood eternally elegant against curtains that had never been opened, even if his form was blurred and distorted.

Not really any different to anything he had said before and yet it was. Layered under with a truth that had been hidden away under other kinds of love and affection but in vino veritas.

“Disgusting,” Loki said, as Thor had always imagined he would if he ever told the whole truth and nothing but the truth rather than the vague platitudes he was trapped by. “Your own brother? You must have been relieved to find out that I was adopted, selfish spoilt prince like always. Nothing but you matters. Better to be a monsterfucker than a brotherfucker.”

Thor flinched, unsurprised but still hurt. It was nothing more than the words he had imagined Loki saying over and over again since the moment he had first realised the heat of attraction that warmed his blood, the attraction that had grown, the heavy air pressure drawing dark storm clouds, torrential rain and a storm of love that he had never been able to break free from. As much a part of him as the thunder and lightning that ran through his veins.

“And you’re surprised that I leapt from the Bifrost rather than spend another moment in your company?” Loki asked, mocking. “You’re surprised that given the first opportunity I faked my own death so that I no longer needed to suffer your lustful gaze? Pathetic Thor. Surprised that I was happy to live far away from you on Sakaar. That I—” He stopped, as though stumbling to a halt. As though there was something that came after Sakaar but he couldn’t quite comprehend it, couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m sorry,” Thor said, tears making Loki’s face an unreadable blur. “I know. I’m awful. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.”

There was no direct answer. No promise, no forgiveness. Just a long dark pause before Loki started singing. It was a song that Thor could remember from his childhood, a gentle lullaby that Loki had sung on occasion when they were young, curled up together innocently hoping for bright futures. 

It felt like a conversation that happened again and again, the words strung together differently but the beats the same. Honesty in the deep dark night where there was no use in hiding from the monsters because they lurked not in the shadows but in Thor’s heart.

Falling asleep to the sound of Loki’s voice every night, singing all the songs of their happy childhood on Asgard and waking to his soft murmurings about nothing much, momentary flashes of poetry that Thor could barely remember. Loki had always been the one talented in such respects. The beauty to Thor’s beast. Songs that even Thor knew all the words to, so familiar and comforting that he could relax, close his eyes and drift away as though dying. Poems that Thor knew handfuls of lines that seemed to be the only ones he ever caught, waking up to Loki reading aloud only he knew Loki well enough to know that he wasn’t reading aloud. He had no need. It was all from memory and no matter what Thor said he would refuse to repeat the parts that Thor couldn’t remember when he woke and asked for them, merely laughing teasingly, mischief sparkling in his eyes, promising the same poem for the next morning if Thor was able to wake up for it.

Thor never did, destined to always miss the bits he couldn’t remember, the lines he knew reverberating round his head like a thunderclap. 

No matter what he was offered, Loki would turn his nose up at the Midgardian foods that Thor kept encouraging him to try. A part of Thor couldn’t really blame him, it was mostly ordered from the takeaways in other villages or a variety of snacks no more complicated than opening a packet. Not the delicate light meals that Loki preferred. Those would require more effort, to go to a restaurant but somehow the idea of leaving the hut didn’t appeal to Thor and Loki refused to even contemplate it, or for Thor to cook but he knew his talents did not lie in that arena.

Korg and Miek appreciated the food though, and Thor could only assume they brought some of their own as it seemed to appear even when he didn’t call for supplies himself. Thor ate with a bored monotony, as though there was a hole inside him that needed filling, even though the food never tasted as he had remembered it. As if with every bite he was seeking a flavour he had loved but each thing he tried was not the right one, not the thing he was searching for, ploughing through in a hopeless quest as Loki suggested another beer. 

“Hey, what toppings do you want on the pizza?” Korg asked. He liked pizza. It was one of the things that seemed to soften the scraps of conversation that he could hear between Thor and Loki. 

“Don’t care,” Thor said, setting aside an empty packet of crisps in favour of a full bottle of beer.

“Loki?” Korg asked optimistically, expecting no response.

There was no answer, just a blank moment of emptiness. Silence unfilled by the background sounds of the games that ran for so many of the hours of the day. As empty and adrift as Thor felt.

“You’re a pathetic failure,” Loki said calmly, watching him eat. “So stupid. Such an easy thing, to go for the head, and you failed. Failed to stop him just as you failed to stop him on our ship, letting him slaughter our people then letting him snap his fingers. As if bringing about Ragnarok wasn’t enough destruction for you. You really should never have been even considered as a possible King.”

Thor had nothing to say, nothing to add. No defence. He had always been better at attacking than defending. He’d failed at that too, in the end. 

“I even went to the trouble of giving you a great big hint and you couldn’t see it,” Loki continued, his voice beautifully honeyed, dripping with sweet venom. “I knew to go for the head. Anyone with two braincells to rub together would have gone for the head. But you, we all know you’re just stupid. Useless. Nothing more than brute strength to be pointed in the direction of the enemy but here you couldn’t even figure out the basic task of actually cutting his head off. Some warrior you are. Were. All in the past for you, No one would want you on their team, a useless burden incapable of pulling his own weight. The Avengers must have celebrated every time you left their little planet, hopeful that you’d never return. I almost pity them.”

Thor nodded, accepting it. For all that Loki was a gifted liar he could also eloquently cut to the heart of the matter with the absolute truth. He let Loki’s words wash over him, washed down by beer. A tidal wave of truth mixing with the warm comfort of food even if none of the things he ate were quite what he desired. 

There were times, when he was stuffed full and pleasantly drunk, lying in bed rubbing soothing circles on his belly, that he almost thought he might be back on Asgard. No different from when he had stumbled back to his rooms after a grand feast to celebrate a victory, drinking and eating his fill. The victory was sour, the celebration combined with a funeral. They always had been, a memorial to the dead as much as a toast to the victors but never on such a scale. And Loki…

Loki was there, lounging casually by his bed looking down at him with gentle green eyes.

Waking up to those green eyes was better than waking up to the traitorous sun that Thor could no longer bear to allow into the hut, hating it for the reminder of something he could never quite drink enough to entirely forget.

“This place is a mess,” Loki said, his sharp eyes not needing any great skill to see the chaos of the hut. The empty beer bottles littering the floor, the crumbs and empty packets that never quite got tidied up. 

“Everything’s a mess,” Thor said with a shrug and a smile.

“Well this is disgusting,” Loki snapped, looking distinctly unimpressed as he trailed after Thor to the main room, standing over him as Thor sunk down into his usual chair.

“It’s fine,” Thor replied, brushing some crumbs off the table onto the floor, starting his first beer of the day.

“Are you drinking? Now? Isn’t there work to be done? Being King isn’t all luxury and idleness.”

“Cease your nagging,” Thor roared, anger shooting through him suddenly, cowing Loki into silence. He swigged his beer, feeling the comfort of the action soothe him.

Loki hovered quietly but with the same bad humour that lingered with Thor, as though he could spend all of eternity nursing a grudge. Thor knew he could sulk for weeks, but days blurred into each other with the curtains kept closed and the beer constantly flowing. 

“Brother,” Loki whispered softly, the concern that filled his voice evident even at a distance, “This isn’t like you.”

Thor drank, torn between wanting to pull Loki into a hug and despair at the distance between them. Warmed and irritated by Loki’s concern.

“Hey,” Korg said, interrupting Thor in his drinking, still painfully aware of Loki leaning silently against the wall as if loathe to touch anything. “Let’s get pizza. What toppings do you want?”

“Don’t care,” Thor said with a shrug, “Whatever you want.”

Korg nodded, not expecting anything else. Thor rarely had a preference, but still he asked every time. He considered it to be important. “Loki? What do you want?”

“Pineapple and anchovies,” Loki said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t be like that,” Thor huffed at him.

Korg frowned at Thor, titling his head. He felt like there was something he had missed. Something that was almost there, like the wind had blown through the hut disturbing the empty packets that littered it, only there was no wind as the windows were never opened. He shrugged, ordering the toppings he and Miek liked best.

Loki turned his nose up at the pizza, when it arrived. “Brother,” he sighed as Thor ate slice after slice, washed down with bottle after bottle of beer, “This isn’t like you to be inside like this… What happened…”

Thor shuddered at the hint of memory, taking another desperate gulp of beer as though it might help soften the memories, fade their edges, give him respite. Prevent them from rising back out from their graves, decomposing corpses haunting his every thought. 

Valkyrie hesitated in the doorway, not needing to go any further in to know what the hut and its occupant was like. Needing still to poke her nose in occasionally, normally choosing moments when Thor was asleep. Feeling the same eternal despair that she always felt, the one that haunted her like the scent of charred flesh that she could never quite wash away. Irritation at Korg for not understanding why it was bad that Thor had lost touch with reality and with it all ability to care for himself. Fear about what it meant for the future and the Asgardians that remained, knowing that she could only hide the truth for so long with no idea how the people who had already lost so much might take it. There was only so long that she could excuse Thor as being busy with other things, with Avenger business even as she knew that there were no longer any Avengers, Thanos had killed them all. He’d just done it the slow way.

She wondered how it would change things with the humans, with the Asgardians trading on Thor’s good name and might to reach a settlement deal. Whether it would last without Thor. Without the Thor that had been. 

Valkyrie had looked up all the names of the Avengers, just so she could curse each and every one of them personally. They had been, to hear Thor talk of it, his friends. Thor had regarded them as such. Had looked at them with kindness and affection. Yet not a single one of them reached out, made an attempt at contacting him. Not that she would have let them anywhere near him, not if she could help it. It didn’t matter, the point still stood. It seemed to her that the Avengers regarded Thor as their friend when they needed his strength to save the world. When the world was shattered then they licked their own wounds, cared for their own people with no regard to the bleak village facing a sorrowful sea. It was easier to be angry than to allow herself to fall into grief. New Asgard could not survive with both her and Thor drunk, and they could not both be drunk on the available alcohol. 

She let the door close, stepping back out into the cruel sunlight and harsh sea breeze, salt in the air and in her veins. 

Loki seemed to keep up his irritating nagging, alternating between long moments of silence and plaintive pleas to Thor to take better care of himself when Thor was only doing what was best, what Loki had himself said was best. Best to stay away from the important things, to leave that to people like Loki who were competent. Best to eat drink and be merry, though he wasn’t managing to be very merry now that Loki was interfering again rather than swanning around being King like he was supposed to be. 

“You know, when I was King I might have spent a fair amount of time lounging around drinking wine and eating grapes,” Loki said, his voice soft and gentle like a trap, “But that was because Asgard was prospering. It may have looked like I was doing nothing but there was a lot of hard work under the surface, there always is with my illusions. I thought you knew that. I thought you knew what it takes to be King.”

Thor threw his nearly empty beer bottle at Loki, who ducked just in time. It smashed against the wall, droplets of beer and shards of glass landing on the untidy floor. 

Korg cursed, the sudden sound having led to him miscalculating a move in his game, and Miek made a sound that might have been a death throe or an expression of surprise. Thor didn’t really care. 

He looked away so he wouldn’t have to see Loki’s hurt expression, the sadness in his eyes as though he was lost in unbearable grief. Instead he reached for another bottle, grabbing some chocolate to go with it even though they tasted awful together, ignoring the slight sob of despair that came from the corner where Loki was. 

By the time Korg asked in his ineffectual way, “Hey, Thor, Loki, what do you want on pizza?” Thor had drunk plenty more despite Loki’s aura of miserable disapproval. Still Korg smiled on regardless, as though he were a fountain of pure optimism that seemed to suggest that optimism was doomed to fail.

“Don’t care,” Thor mumbled. 

“Pineapple and anchovies,” Loki answered, his voice crisp and clear, yet with a muffled quality as though he had been crying.

“Ew man that’s gross,” Korg said, shrugging and ordering it anyway. 

Loki didn’t eat any of it, though. Not even when Korg tried to convince him to, reminding him that he’d chosen the topping. Thor ate it instead, putting an end to the mild argument that barely warranted that definition, when Loki was putting in no effort and Korg was incapable of arguing with anyone. Loki huffed in irritation at that, as though he had run out of words with which to chide Thor. As though there was simply too much that he was giving up. Thor ignored him, knowing that if Loki truly wanted him to not eat the pizza he’d stop him, and at least when he was eating or drinking he could forget. It was just like partying with Loki at the banquets of their youth, the strange metallic sounds of weaponry emitting from the game a ghostly imitation of the clink of armour and goblets, the drunk sensation of fullness and Loki’s austere disapproval oozing from him in waves of green and gold. 

“I love you,” Thor said as he lay in bed, drunk but contentedly full, the world spinning lazily as it always did. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” Loki said, tired and resigned, without the disgust Thor expected. As though he had been worn down. As though he heard a different meaning.

“No one compares to you,” Thor continued, rambling without direction. “Sif, Jane, they just weren’t you…”

“ _How_ do you love me?” Loki asked, his face obscured by shadows, sitting on the floor by Thor’s bed, his head bowed. 

Just out of Thor’s reach, as he always had been. 

“I love you,” Thor repeated stupidly, confused at the question when Loki had always understood so precisely what lay in his heart without needing words. All the other nights they had had this conversation it had gone differently, the blurred confession and disgusted rejection on eternal repeat. “I think I’ve been in love with you for as long as I remember.”

“Idiot,” Loki whispered, so quiet that Thor could barely hear it. “Why didn’t I know? How did I miss that?”

Thor sat up, fighting against the way the world lurched and his stomach ached, desperate to see Loki’s face. For a moment they shared eye contact, more honest that any of the words they had ever exchanged, then Thor reached for Loki.

Loki flinched backwards, his fingers grasping nothing but air.

“Don’t touch me!” Loki gasped, alarmed and afraid.

“Sorry,” Thor said, breaking, curling back up into himself and giving himself over to sobs for something that had been lost. Grief that seared his bones.

“I’m sorry,” Loki whispered, words that meant nothing without actions to back them up, wasted useless sounds. “I’m sorry Thor, so very sorry.”

Loki was softer and gentler with him then, which made Thor afraid that he’d done something wrong. Something to anger Loki even more than he already had cause for. That was the only thing that made sense to him, for Loki to have switched from laying out his flaws every day but still sticking by him, still there no matter how unworthy Thor was, to lulling him into a false sense of security in preparation for an even greater onslaught.

“Open the curtains,” Loki asked, his voice like the dead, empty and sad. A request, not the order of the man who would be king. No godly command, just a plea that sounded as vapid as the faint tendrils of light that managed to find their way past the heavy curtains that kept the hut in the gloomy darkness.

“No,” Thor almost yelled, “No. I hate the sun.”

He did. He couldn’t stand to have the sun stream in through the window. It was even worse than those moments when he had to stand under it, not that he ever went out now. A reminder of the words Loki had said before his body crumpled. 

“Please?” Loki asked, turning away from him to appeal to Korg and Miek. “Come on, don’t you want a bit of sunlight? It must be beautiful, just open the curtains a little bit for a short while, it’ll do us all some good. I need it.”

“No,” Korg said, giving him an incredulous look, “Sunlight makes it hard to see the screen properly and I’m in the middle of an important quest. I’ve got to beat that stupid kid.”

“Please?” Loki repeated desperately, looking at Miek.

Miek looked back at him blankly, and wriggled an appendage at him, which Loki took as a no. Either way, it was not an appendage that was going anywhere near the curtain so it was a moot point really. 

To Thor’s relief Loki let the idea go. He flinched slightly to see that Loki had moved to stand in the faint beam of light that had creeped its way through the crack of the curtain that he had never been able to eliminate. He hated the sight, hated the way the sunlight looked against pale skin, the green of his eyes brightly reflecting the light. Hated the memories that wouldn’t leave him alone, so he reached for another bottle even if it meant that Loki looked at him like his heart was breaking into as many pieces as the Statesman had been shattered into. 

“Hey,” Korg said, cheerful as ever as the sunlight started to fade, Loki gazing longingly after it as the sun set, “What toppings do you want on your pizza?”

“Don’t care,” Thor said, as always, shrugging and swirling his beer bottle to ascertain how much there was left in it. Not much. There never was. Small bottles of weak booze.

“Pineapple and anchovies,” Loki said.

“Are you going to eat it this time?” Korg asked curiously, not really needing an answer. Valkyrie would permit anything, as many pizzas and as many beers as they could order. Anything they could possibly want would be funded, as though that would assuage her guilt and sense of responsibility.

Loki turned away, ignoring him in favour of Thor, but it didn’t matter to Korg. He turned to Miek to finalise their order and make the call, before putting his headset back on for another round. 

Thor finished the final dregs of his beer.

“How many have you had today?” Loki sighed, tired and sad.

Thor shrugged. It was not something he had ever seen the point in counting. Not enough was the answer, just as much as it was too many.

He picked up a new bottle. Loki grasped his wrist, his hand cool but firm.

For a moment it felt like the universe had gone to war inside Thor’s head, as if all of reality was colliding in a cacophony of pure chaos. The way in which Loki’s words had changed recently, the manner of his conversations with Korg and Miek. The softness of his care even as it was held at a distance.

The bottle dropped from loosened fingers, smashing on the ground.

“Loki?” Thor whispered, thunderstruck.

“Yeah,” Loki said, nodding impotently.

“It’s really you?” Thor asked, staring at Loki, his hand tentatively making its way to gently cup Loki’s face.

“Yes, it’s really me. I’m here. I’m alive again.”

Thor pulled him into a big hug, clinging to him as though he was the entirety of existence. Loki let himself melt into the embrace, softly combing tentative fingers through Thor’s hair, lacking the magical strength to neaten it properly.

“Why did it take you so long?” Thor asked, holding him as though he would never let him go.

Loki couldn’t bring himself to give the real answer, that his words as he faced Thanos had had meaning. That his spell had been powered by the sunlight and without it it had nearly withered away. That locked away in the darkness it had taken far longer than it should have to restore himself using nothing but the scraps that made their way through the curtains, trapped by Thor as his anchor in reality. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, “I did my best. I’m here now.”

After an age, in which the universe could have come to the eve of its heat death, Loki drew back just enough to look Thor in the eye, a hard task with tears in both their eyes. Softly, gently, he leant forward enough to press their lips together. Thor responded, kissing him back as though no longer wishing to question the hows or whys of reality bending to his wishes.

There was a brisk knock on the door, and Korg swore in alarm, accidentally causing himself damage in-game. Thor and Loki broke apart, quickly coming back together so that Thor’s arm was around Loki’s waist and Loki’s head rested on Thor’s shoulder. Settling in together, knowing that even if things changed they would manage now that they were both alive again. 

Korg, oblivious to virtually everything except the arrival of the pizza, cheerfully announced, “Hey guys the pizza’s here.”

Thor started to reach for a beer, out of habit more than anything else, before pausing. With a sigh, he reluctantly stood up, the movement taking him far too far away from Loki, before heading to the small neglected kitchen for water.

Loki accepted a glass with a strange look, as though he were torn between pride and affection. 

Thor found that rather than eating the pizza in front of him his attention was mostly on Loki, the sensation of actually being able to feel him again in all the points where their bodies came into contact. Watching him eat his pineapple and anchovy pizza as though there was a future.


End file.
